


And We Drown

by fortythousandth



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime), Sailor Moon - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fisting, Rough Sex, Silver Millennium Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:56:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortythousandth/pseuds/fortythousandth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Silver Millennium, Sailor Uranus and Sailor Neptune rarely are allowed to meet, and must make the most of the time that they do have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And We Drown

I. Gale Force

The first time of the night barely counts.

Queen Serenity’s ball is in full swing by then, and they have duties to fulfill, after all: dignitaries to impress, a princess and her guardians to tease, a queen to admire.

But while the party gains even more momentum, as guests keep pouring in amidst a swirl of decadence and extravagance, two figures steal away as soon as they glimpse the slightest opening.

If anyone had been paying attention to the actions of the two frontline Outer Guardians, the pattern would become rapidly evident: Sailor Uranus and Sailor Neptune haven’t been present for the length of an entire ball for centuries now.

But they’re careful to never neglect the rounds they must make, and everyone else is too captivated by the aura of the mysterious Outer Senshi to ever even comment, much less critique.

This all makes it incredibly simple for Uranus to casually offer Neptune her arm, inch in the direction of the dance floor, then escape out the nearest exit as soon as she’s positive that no eyes are following them.

The first time of the night, they don’t even make it to a room.

Neptune’s mouth is so tender and hot and her body, softly curved, framed perfectly by that gorgeous aquamarine dress.

She makes it halfway up one flight of secluded stairs before depositing Neptune against the wall, dropping to her knees, and hiking the skirt of Neptune’s dress up.

A younger Neptune, Uranus knows, would’ve never been caught dead in this position. But time and loneliness have a peculiar way of wearing down pride, and now, all Neptune does is whimper, tangle her hand in Uranus’ hair, and push her down.

It had been all Uranus could do to keep it together even in the ballroom. Uranian culture instills plenty of desirable traits in its natives, but subtlety has never been one of Uranus’ specialties, and she’d figured that, at the rate she was going, she was maybe ten minutes away from instigating a huge scandal.

It’s just that she can barely resist Neptune under the best of circumstances, and it takes a Herculean effort to even spend time at Queen Serenity’s balls at all, instead of instantly whisking Neptune away into the nearest room.

How long it’s actually been since they were last together, Uranus has lost count. Neptune probably knows--she has a mind for details and dates--but Uranus has long since learned that it’s better not to keep count.

Keeping count only emphasizes just how much they have to sacrifice.

Uranus has been on edge for weeks. She’s been shaky, jittery, simply off, at any given moment unsure if her next move will be laughing or bursting into tears or both, small explosions of anticipation.

Uranus can’t remember the last time she felt anything resembling normal and figures it was probably the last time she had Neptune before her just like this, spread out, trembling, wanting, all hers for the taking.

One pair of underwear tossed aside and then her mouth is on Neptune’s clit and Neptune’s crying out, her fingers gripping at Uranus’ hair. It would hurt, but she’s past the point of caring. Uranus is shaking so much from desire and lust and emotion that it’s a wonder that she can even manage a rhythm, but Neptune’s gasping above her, thrashing.

She’s still too controlled, though. Neptune’s wet, she always is, and when Uranus slips a finger inside of her she lets out a cry that sounds like it was wrenched from the core of her being, and the quiver of joy that bolts through her makes Uranus feel like a fucking champion

Neptune’s not going to last long--she never does, the first time of the night. Uranus knows that Neptune’s been waiting for this too, holding back, just as Uranus has been, and the first time of the night happens so fast almost to get it out of the way and over with, just to finally give both of them a release.

There’s this way that Neptune’s thighs start trembling when she’s close, and only then does Uranus allow herself to reach down with her free hand, unbutton the trousers she had chosen to wear that night, and touch herself.

Uranus jumps, whimpers at her first contact. Neptune bucks her hips up at the vibration, and she doubles down her efforts on Neptune because Uranus is already drenched and throbbing herself, and she can tell, can tell by the hitch in Neptune’s breath and the way she’s tugging Uranus’ hair, forcing Uranus up against her, how close Neptune is too.

Neptune comes almost violently, jerking her hips up, moaning Uranus’ name, and that’s what gets Uranus, sends her crashing over the edge as well.

The first time of the night barely even counts, but for the first time in recent memory, the senshi of the wind has finally, mercifully stilled.

 

II. High Tide

The second time of the night is a rough frenzy, a storm battering against the shore.

Neptune’s patience is vastly overrated. It’s not so much that she’s patient rather than she’s practical, and she manages to drag Uranus back to her room based on the sheer logical reasoning that they need to find a bed.

And once they’re behind closed doors, Neptune feels herself beginning to crack.

Uranus grabs her, mouth at her neck, at her jaw, nuzzling into her earlobe, whispering, “What do you want me to--”

“I don’t care what you do, just make me feel it,” Neptune murmurs, pulling at damp blonde hair, grabbing at Uranus’ shoulder, arcing her hips up, doing anything she can to just be closer, she needs her closer, she needs Uranus on top of her and inside of her and holding her, because it’s been decades, ages, since she’s felt like she’s on solid ground.

Uranus half laughs, half sobs, catches her, guides her, soothes Neptune like only she can. “I missed you so much.”

Neptune tugs Uranus down and they collapse in a heap on the bed, but Neptune doesn’t care. Nothing matters but Uranus. She smells crisp and fresh, clean, the essence of the wind; her weight is warm and heavy on Neptune, and she shivers.

It’s been so long since she’s felt connected to much of anything.

It’s been so long since she’s been anyone other than Sailor Neptune, guardian of the sea, eternally stationed in Triton Castle.

The sea is unforgiving. Undrinkable, unmanageable, the sea only takes.

Neptune’s spent so long drifting.

She tilts her head up, brushes her lips across the wetness on Uranus’ cheeks, tastes the salt. A younger Neptune would have teased Uranus for her volatile emotions, but it’s been years, and Neptune is near tears herself. “Please,” she whispers.

Uranus’ lips are at her jawline, at her neck, at her collarbone, and without warning, she bites hard. Neptune moans and sinks back against the wall, the heady rush of pain sending a surge straight down to her core. "Harder," she gasps.

She’s still soaked, has been waiting for this for weeks, for months. Uranus slides two fingers inside of her like it’s nothing and she needs more, pulls Uranus’ head down, sucks a string of blossoming purple bruises into the pale skin while Uranus pounds into her, thumb grazing her clit with every stroke.

Uranus knows Neptune more intimately than any soul in the galaxy, but there’s still so much that Uranus doesn’t know.

Neptune’s violating protocol all the time now.

She and Uranus are the Outer Guardians of the Solar System, only two women responsible for vast swaths of territory. And the first rule they have is simple: guard your area. Whoever’s at an incident first is the one to take care of the issue. Only in situations of extreme duress should more than one Outer Senshi be dispatched to take care of the invaders.

Sailor Uranus and Sailor Neptune are meant to be allies, never partners.

But Neptune’s both blessed and cursed with her talisman. She’s rarely without the Deep Aqua Mirror these days, gazing into its depths, waiting and watching, hoping and not hoping to see Uranus.

Neptune’s transgressions would appear minor to a casual observer, but in the scope of her duty, any of them on its own would be fairly damning: using the talisman for personal gain, joining Sailor Uranus for otherwise mundane missions, spending every waking moment dreaming not of perfectly executed attacks nor vanquishing her peoples’ foes, but rather of just being closer to Uranus.

And so lies her worst crime: falling inextricably in love with Sailor Uranus.

She supposes she should feel guilty, but the truth of the matter is, nothing but duty binds a Sailor Senshi. To _anything_.

At this point, Neptune’s not even being particularly subtle. What can anyone do? She holds the star seed of Neptune. She can’t exactly be fired. She’s never even been properly reprimanded, although she’s sure that her actions are becoming egregious enough to merit reports to the Moon Kingdom. But either Queen Serenity is too occupied by her daughter and holding the Kingdom together for the sake of her heir, or she’s willingly turning a blind eye.

Neptune hopes it’s the latter, fears it’s the former.

Regardless, she knows: nobody can do anything to her. Her life--stationed in isolation, billions of kilometers away from the woman she loves--is punishment enough.

Neptune reaches up, fists a hand in Uranus’ hair. “I need more,” she manages.

Uranus inhales sharply, eyes blazing, and adds a third finger, a fourth. Neptune’s full, almost uncomfortably so, but there’s no way she’s going to slow Uranus down, no way she’s going to tell her to stop.

The second time of the night, she needs Uranus to be rough and unforgiving.

She needs bruises, she needs scratch marks, she needs to be sore.

She needs to know, needs to be able to remember, that she was really here.

 

III. Downburst

The third time of the night is unhurried, intimate, a careful examination with hands and mouths of the various mementos etched onto their bodies during the time they’d spent apart.

It’s fitting, Uranus thinks, that Neptune paints for leisure. She’s had the pleasure of seeing several of Neptune’s works and they’re stunning, but every single one pales in comparison to the woman she has on the bed before her.

She can’t quite believe that Neptune is actually here, that this is actually real, even as she traces her way up Neptune’s stomach, runs a hand through Neptune’s hair, brushes her thumb against a hardening nipple.

Neptune has a new scar near her collarbone. It’s still pink, slightly jagged; Uranus wants to ask how it happened, but she’s not sure if she can handle knowing, not sure if she can handle the thought of someone’s blade coming that close to Neptune’s heart.

So instead she kisses her, presses her body against Neptune’s warmth, repeats to herself in her mind: this is true. This is real.

She’s been waiting so long.

Uranus daydreams of saltwater, sitting on the balcony of Miranda Castle. As the winds wrap themselves around her, her element’s form of comfort, she can’t help but imagine the scent of the ocean. Every time she’s with Neptune, she takes a moment to pause, to breathe it in, to store it away. Just so she can remember.

Uranus closes her eyes, thinking, with all of her might, the words that she can never quite bring herself to say: _I worry about you_ and _Don’t ever let me go_ and _I love you_ , as true as the beating of her heart, _I love you_.

And when Neptune reaches up, squeezes her hand, shoots her that misty blue-eyed gaze, Uranus’ heart clenches. She knows Neptune feels it.

She knows that somehow, no matter what, Neptune will always be there, will always meet her halfway.

 

IV. Ebb and Flow

The last time of the night rarely ever even occurs at night.

The ball has long since ended, revelers and partygoers collapsed in their beds, asleep. It’s the time of night, pre-dawn, in which the sky is still dark, but progressively lightens, tinted just the slightest shade blue lighter at every glance.

The last time of the night is prolonged, for as long as they can manage it. It’s deep. Intimate.

Neptune’s breathing in, breathing out, relaxing herself, finding her rhythm, as Uranus pushes forward, four fingers inside and angling her thumb.

Uranus is flushed, focused, her lip white where she’s digging in with her teeth, her dark blue eyes intent, pupils nearly blown out altogether. Later, Neptune will barely have to brush against her to get her to unravel.

Neptune knows that for Uranus, this is almost as intense as an experience as it is for her. But for her…

Uranus edges in a bit more, at the widest part of her hand, and Neptune’s so stretched, until with one little nudge it’s a sudden, sharp twinge and she gasps, muscles contracting hard around Uranus.

Uranus’ eyes go wide. “Are you okay?”

“Kiss me,” Neptune breathes, a bit surprised at just how hard it is to get the words out.

Uranus dips her head and presses her lips to Neptune’s. It’s fitting, Neptune thinks dizzily, how the senshi of the wind can take her breath away with such ease. The touch is relaxing her already, opening her up, and she lifts her arm, runs it through the hair at the nape of Uranus’ neck, across the broadness of Uranus’ shoulders, rests it on her sturdy back. “All right,” she whispers.

Uranus is getting close to being done, almost all the way in, Neptune can tell. “Tell me if--”

“I will.” Perhaps she will, if she can’t stand it any longer, but she wants Uranus inside of her, so deep inside of her, loves the way that Uranus shudders at the exact moment the broad part of her hand fits, loves the way that she can feel every tiny little movement, every tiny little wriggle that Uranus makes, straddling the line between pleasure and pain, and it’s just...

Every nerve ending in her body is zapping, reacting, and there’s Uranus, eyes locked on hers, with this tiny little half-smile, and she can feel the pressure mounting inside of herself, and everything in her life is finally right, finally.

It’s like being underwater, submerged in the sea.

Sinking. Blue fading to black, black fading to haze, haze melting into nothing and everything. An expanse of stars stretched before her vision, as she rocks back, clenching around Uranus’ hand, nothing but her and Uranus and sensation.

She comes back slowly, almost unwillingly, because she knows that if she does, she’ll have to admit to herself that it’s almost all over.

Uranus draws back slowly, gazing at Neptune like she’s a goddess, the sort of look Neptune never anticipated that she would receive, and settles down next to Neptune. “Can I ask you something?” she asks, her voice suddenly raw, vulnerable.

“Of course,” Neptune replies.

Uranus rests her forehead against Neptune’s, looking deep into her eyes, taking a few moments to phrase the question. “I just…” She pauses, starts again. “Is this enough for you?” she asks quietly.

Neptune reaches up, traces Uranus’ jaw, watches her shiver. Neptune’s open now, defenses completely shattered, honest, logy, and exhausted, her heart at once overflowing and breaking. “You,” she breathes, “are so much more than I ever thought I’d get.”

Uranus swallows hard, gives her a small smile and a curt, watery nod, and nuzzles into Neptune’s shoulder. Neither can say much of anything else as the sun peeks over the horizon in earnest, scattering prison bar stripes across the floor through the opening of the curtains, signalling breakfast and an imminent departure.

It’s all too easy to pledge one’s life to duty before one has discovered somebody worth living for.

 

V. Squall

At the time, you don’t know it’s going to be the last time.

At the time, you think it’s just another occurrence in a long, sprawling, indefinite timeline. Functional immortality carries with it a certain type of hubris; the knowledge that one will never experience a natural death tends to obscure the insidious flipside.

You can’t die, although it’s all too easy to be killed.

But at the time, it all seems impossible.

Until it isn’t.

 

 


End file.
